


Otherwise

by skoosiepants



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-06
Updated: 2007-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skoosiepants/pseuds/skoosiepants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am getting completely shit-faced and then I’m going to kill Finch-Fletchly and then at some point I hope to get my job back.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Otherwise

Ministry Incident Report #54001  
Date of Incident: _11.28.06_  
Time of Incident: _11:30pm_  
Persons involved: _Auror Ginevra Weasley, Tenth Division; Auror Colin Creevey, Tenth Division; Mr. Draco Malfoy, Solicitor at Law; Miss Gabrielle Delacour, Civilian; Mr. Trent Tessra, Ministry Receptionist_  
Report compiled by: _Auror G. Weasley  
  
At approximately 11:30 pm, Auror Creevey and I were walking through the Ministry lobby when we noticed the night receptionist, Mr. Tessra, being harassed by a visibly agitated Miss Gabrielle Delacour. We approached, asking politely if there was a problem, and were told to “fuck off” by the lady in question, who then went back to shouting obscenities at Mr. Tessra. Auror Creevey attempted to calm Miss Delacour down, placing a hand on her arm, to which she responded by drawing back and jabbing him with a sharp right hook in the eye.  
  
I was then forced to jump onto the woman’s back, as my wand had been temporarily confiscated for hexing the bones out of Auror M. Johnson’s hands that afternoon – see Incident Report #53999 – and proceeded to wrestle her down to the ground in a Ministry approved emergency Muggle Sleeper Hold.  
  
Mr. Tessra explained that the very upset Miss Delacour had been looking for her recalcitrant boyfriend, Mr. Draco Malfoy, who she suspected was dallying in his office with his “pale-arsed mistress.” Mr. Tessra was obligated to enforce the Ministry policy of allowing no visitors entrance to the building after 8:30 pm, and refused Miss Delacour her request to search the Department of Magical Law, at which time she grew, in Mr. Tessra’s words, “shrill and just plain mean.”  
  
At approximately 11:40, Mr. Draco Malfoy entered the lobby and shouted at me to “get the bloody fuck off Gabby,” grabbing my arm and causing four visible bruises on my bicep. We explained the situation, at which time Mr. Malfoy started shouting at Miss Delacour, and Auror Creevey advised the two quarrelling lovers to “take this show on the road.”  
  
At approximately 11:50, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Delacour left the Ministry building, after Miss Delacour threatened to sue my “flame-headed arse.” I suggested politely that she consider taking a course on English diction, as well as how to successfully insult someone with wit, as she clearly has the IQ of a five-year-old.  
  
Mr. Malfoy shot me a nasty look before escorting the French woman outside._  
  
Compiler’s signature: _Ginny Weasley_  
Date: _11.29.06_  
  
***  
  
Ginny’s desk was a mess, papers stacked high and toppling over, three dirty coffee cups – one half-full - on her ink blotter, paper towels with crumbs. And then there was one perfect cinnamon scone, just taunting her as she waited impatiently for Colin to finish brewing their second pot of the morning.  
  
She glanced up and snapped, “What?” at the nervous-looking young man hovering in the doorway, out of place in the chaotic Auror offices in pristine black robes, a large white envelope under his arm.  
  
He cleared his throat and tugged at his collar. “Ah, it’s,” he stepped forward, flat package extended. “It’s a restraining order, miss. I’ll need your signature.”  
  
“Are you joking?” She snatched the envelope from his hands with wide brown eyes, tearing it open viciously and scanning the top of the thick stack of papers inside. “No. No, you’re not,” she murmured, mostly to herself, then louder, “That _wanker_.”  
  
It was a restraining order, signed by Draco Malfoy, Solicitor at Magical Law, stating that she, Ginny Weasley, had to maintain a distance of at least fifty feet from Miss Gabrielle Delacour. Was that even legal for an Auror?  
  
“Your signature, Auror Weasley?”  
  
Ginny shot the messenger a death glare. “There’s no way I’m signing for this. And here,” she tore off a scrap of paper and scribbled: _Nice try, Malfoy. It hasn’t even got a Ministry stamp, so let’s try for something a little more believable next time._ She shoved the note and ripped envelope back at the gangly youth and jabbed a finger towards the door. “Tell your master I hate him.”  
  
“What was that about?” Colin asked, slipping in the door and watching curiously as Malfoy’s lackey hurried down the hall.  
  
“Malfoy’s trying to drive me mad with immature pranks,” she muttered, leaning back in her chair. “What’s on for today?”  
  
He waved a stack of papers. “We get to arrest people.”  
  
“Oh, joy. We’re being punished, aren’t we?” She tilted her head and glowered ineffectually up at the cracked-plaster ceiling, the office directly above theirs belonging to one Robert Dempsey, her division head and a hard-nosed old-school Auror who’d put her through more anger management seminars than she cared to remember.  
  
“ _You’re_ being punished,” Colin clarified, moving to his desk and hopping up on the edge, knocking several folders onto the floor. “As usual, I get to be miserable by proxy.”  
  
“Lucky bastard. How many warrants have we, then?” she asked, resigned.  
  
“Five. Including one for good old Marcus Flint.”  
  
“ _Again_?” Nothing ever stuck to the ex-Slytherin, yet the Ministry kept approving arrest warrants for the bloke since he was rude to everyone, held a notorious temper, and had an ongoing, vocal feud with the Apothecary owner in Diagon Alley. With a groan, she buried her hands in her hair and tugged. “Fucking hell. It’s _Christmas._ ”  
  
“In a month,” Colin countered, swinging his legs.  
  
She shot him a quelling glare. “It’s Christmas,” she reiterated. Then her desk got a mean pout and she muttered petulantly, “Wish they’d give me back my wand.”  
  
“Maybe if you asked Finch-Fletchley nicely—”  
  
“Not bloody likely,” she snarled. Finch-Fletchly was a prime arse. Her elbows fell on her desk, palms slipping over her eyes. “God, I wish I were drunk.”  
  
“Don’t we all,” Colin said dryly.  
  
***  
  
“Ron, Ronnie, Ronald,” Ginny crooned, flopping down on the sofa next to where he was sprawled out, napping, “favorite brother o’mine—”  
  
“No.”  
  
She pouted. “But you haven’t even—”  
  
“No,” he reiterated, but he cracked an eye open. “What is it?”  
  
“I’m in a spot of trouble with Malf—”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Oh, come _on_. You know, there was a time when you’d have jumped to defend me,” she huffed. “Especially with Malfoy involved.”  
  
“Gin,” Ron sighed, struggling up into a sitting position against the far arm, “you can beat the snot out of anyone, and I stopped trying to protect you years ago. Malfoy doesn’t stand a chance.”  
  
She bristled happily. “Well, that’s a horribly nice— _hey_.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You still growl when Michael comes ‘round.”  
  
Ron’s face darkened at the name. “Fuckin’ Corner,” he grumbled.  
  
“So really you just don’t want to deal with Malfoy, do you? What, are you _afraid_ of him?”  
  
For once, Ron didn’t take offence at the blatant jab. “Malfoy and I have come to an understanding, Gin.”  
  
“An understanding,” she echoed, leery.  
  
He stretched into a yawn and shook his head. “Right. We avoid each other at all costs on a social level, and all is well with the world. So you see, I’d be breaking a verbal agreement if I sought out the ferret, leaving myself wide open for harassment.”  
  
“Ron,” Ginny said, trying for patience, “you _work_ with him.”  
  
“We maintain a workplace civility. And I work with Terry, mainly, across the hall.”  
  
“You’re their _secretary_ ,” she stressed.  
  
“Personal assistant,” he corrected.  
  
“Whatever, Ron! He’s going to get me fired!” Ginny exclaimed. “Axed! Completely without income—”  
  
“I know what fired means.”  
  
Ginny harrumphed. “Yes, well, he’s going to do it. He’s been planning this ever since we got Parkinson on that illegal gambling ring.”  
  
Ron frowned. “Vampires, right? Bloody money-filching bastards. And anyway, it isn’t _Malfoy_ who’s going to get you fired. It’s Finch-Fletchly and all your unresolved sexual tension.”  
  
Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve been talking to Ernie again, haven’t you?”  
  
Ron looked shifty. “No.”  
  
Ernie fancied himself a romance guru. He sat about on satin pillows and blathered on about essential oils and generally freaked Ginny out. It was one of the many reasons she avoided visiting with Hannah. And Seamus. And Harry and Millie, because let’s face it. There was some sort of orgy going on over there, and Ginny didn’t really want to know.  
  
“Finch-Fletchly and I,” Ginny said stiffly, getting to her feet, “have nothing between us but deep enmity and a desire to kick each other’s arses.”  
  
Ron gave her an indulgent grin, and with one last glare, she tossed powder in the fireplace and stepped through the floo.  
  
***  
  
Finch-Fletchly was in charge of... something. Something to do with the Auror Disciplinary Committee. Ginny wasn’t exactly sure what, but she had to deal with him on an almost daily basis, and more often than not he ended up confiscating her wand or grabbing her ‘round the waist or kissing her or something. They’d had a few confusing moments in the broom closet on the fifth floor once. He’d swept her mouth with his tongue and she’d kicked him in the shins.  
  
“I’d like my wand back please,” Ginny said, standing in front of Finch-Fletchly’s desk. She crossed her arms over her chest.  
  
He leaned back and propped his chin on his fist, resting his elbow on the chair arm. “Would you? That’s nice, Weasley, but how do I know you won’t cause Johnson any more accidents?”  
  
She clenched her teeth. “I won’t.”  
  
“You’ve said that before,” he pointed out.  
  
“Look, I’ve said _please_ , haven’t I? Just give me my wand.”  
  
He arched his eyebrows. “Have you got the paperwork from Dempsey?”  
  
“Justin,” she said, narrowing her eyes. She knew damn well Dempsey had sent up the paperwork hours before.  
  
“Ooo, my name from your lips. A rare treat.” He got up, grinning, his sunny blond curls bouncing over his eyes. The bastard was handsome, she’d give him that. “All right, since you asked so nicely and even said _please_.”  
  
With a flourish, he pulled her wand out of a drawer to his left and held it out. She grasped the end, but he didn’t let go.  
  
“Justin,” she said again, and she didn’t mean to say it so softly, but it must’ve come out sort of inviting, because Finch-Fletchly tugged, and Ginny slipped forward and. Somehow, she ended up on his lap, melting a bit against him.  
  
And then he gasped, “Ginny,” into her mouth and she snapped back into herself and things got a little insane.  
  
***  
  
_I know she’s your mate, Creevey, but that girl is batshit crazy.  
\- JFF_  
  
***  
  
“What do you mean I’m _grounded_?” Ginny gaped at Shacklebolt. It was a formal dressing down, and she should be thankful she hadn’t been kicked off the team completely, but _grounded_? She’d just gotten her wand back! Although she’d had to wrestle it out of Finch-Fletchly’s grip.  
  
Kingsley rubbed his fingers over his forehead with a pained grimace. “Weasley, you’ve had your wand back for two days, and Finch-Fletchly’s already been sent to St. Mungo’s.”  
  
“He was deliberately baiting me!” Ginny complained. Untrue, so untrue, her mind screamed, but, well, baiting and kissing were close. Right?  
  
“That may be, but it’s beside the point. You should be able to hold your temper as an Auror; particularly around your superiors,” he chastened. “I’m afraid I have no choice in the matter short of dismissing you, and you’re good, Weasley. I’d hate to lose you.”  
  
Ginny bowed her head, pissed off at Kingsley and Finch-Fletchley and herself, too. “D’you need my wand?”  
  
“No.” His sigh was weighty. “No, against my better judgement, I’m keeping you in the field.”  
  
She gave him a curious look. “You are?”  
  
“You’ve got Diagon Alley,” he said briskly. “I’m suspending your Apparating License and issuing you a broom.”  
  
Bloody hell. A damn _beat Auror_. With a _broom_. She might as well be put out to pasture with the other nags. Taking a deep breath, she tried one last ditch argument. “But sir, that’d be unfair on Creevey. He shouldn’t be punished,” _again_ , “for—”  
  
“Oh, he’s not going to be,” Kingsley cut in.  
  
Ginny blinked. “Pardon?” It was rare, less than rare, for an Auror partnership to be dissolved, barring anything except retirement, suspension or, heaven forbid, death.  
  
“You’re being reassigned to Dutch.”  
  
“But.” Ginny’s mouth opened and closed dumbly. “But. Dutch is like over a hundred!” He was the oldest Auror in the division, and should’ve been forced to retire years ago. He could hardly hear, was missing half his teeth, and he smelled unpleasantly like cinnamon mothballs. “And I’ve never worked with anyone but Colin.”  
  
“This isn’t permanent,” Kingsley assured her. “Dutch will be good to practice your patience on, and I’ve signed you up for your _fourth_ anger management session. One on one this time.” He gave her a stern frown. “Your behaviour is erratic and, therefore, extremely dangerous to you and your fellow Aurors, Weasley.”  
  
Ginny felt torn between crying and ripping the man’s throat out. She supposed he may’ve had a point.  
  
Duly, if not quite effectively chastised, Ginny stomped down to the office she shared with Colin and then spread out on the floor, arms sprawled wide and eyes staring glassily at the ceiling.  
  
Colin materialized over top of her. “Poor duck.” He gave her a sympathetic moue. “Just heard you’ve got Dutch in D’Alley.”  
  
Word always traveled fast at the Ministry. Ginny could never figure out exactly how, but she had a feeling it was all the paintings’ faults. “Arrrggh,” she said.  
  
“And you’ve a package.”  
  
Her head popped up. “A package? From who?”  
  
He turned the box on its side and read solemnly, “Malfoy  & Boot, Solicitors at Law.”  
  
“Oh, for the love of.” She struggled to her knees, boosting herself onto her feet. “Give it here.”  
  
Leaning against her desk, she tore off the brown wrapper and cut the tape to reveal… a pair of Muggle trainers. “What the…” She thumbed open the accompanying note and gave a disgusted grunt. _Grounded in Diagon Alley for the seasonal rush? You’ll need a sturdy pair of shoes. Those Auror brooms are crap, too, but then I suppose you’re used to substandard goods. Enjoy the crowds, and don’t make any bets with Dutch. He’s uncannily lucky. DM._  
  
“Shit. It’s Christmas!”  
  
“We went over that a few days ago,” Colin said around a fresh donut. They had the best secretary in the world. He was new, clearly hadn’t read about the Healthy Eating dictate for all Auror divisions, and they were both sure to gain five pounds by the New Year.  
  
“But! Christmas! Oh god, D’Alley is going to be a _nightmare_ ,” she groaned, sliding down onto the floor again, knees upraised and back to her desk. She coshed her head with the box.  
  
“On the bright side, word is they weren’t able to grow Finch-Fletchly’s hair back magically.”  
  
***  
  
Auror Requisition Claim # 50340  
Requisition of: _One (1) Cleansweep 2003. Standard issue._  
Special amenities: _Single handle floodlight. Wouldn’t say no to some reinforced footrests. ~~Oooo, and maybe some chrome plating on the bristles?~~_  
Requisition for: _Ginevra Weasley_  
Auror Division: _Tenth_  
Division head: _Robert Dempsey_  
Signature: _Robert Dempsey_  
  
***  
  
“Ron, you’ll never believe—” Ginny cut off, a horrified, garbled shriek spilling out of her lips, because there were certain things that Ginny wished never to see. One of them - a big, fat glaring one of them – was her only slightly older brother pinning Draco Malfoy to the wall of his kitchen with his mouth and hands in completely inappropriate places.  
  
Ron froze, lifted his head. “Gin, I—”  
  
“You’re the pale-arsed mistress! Oh my very dear god!” She clapped both her hands over her eyes. “My brain is liquefying as we speak. My vision can’t be trusted. What the hell happened to _avoiding each other at all costs_?”  
  
There was a very Malfoy-like snigger, and then Ron growled, “Stop it, Malfoy,” and Ginny wanted to stab herself repeatedly in the face until everything made sense again. She needed a drink. It was truly a miracle she wasn’t a drunkard at the tender age of twenty-five, what with the way her life was spiralling ever downward.  
  
Or maybe she _was_ a drunkard. She’d certainly been hitting the till with Nev and Colin often enough this month.  
  
She peeked through her fingers. “I’m going now,” she said, fighting off hysteria. “I’m going to leave and we’re going to pretend this never happened, and you’re going to tell Malfoy, who is most certainly not here, sucking on your neck, oh my god, that there will be no more childish—”  
  
“Oh, give over, Weasley,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. “Your beef’s with _Finch-Fletchly_. Go, sex him up or something.”  
  
Her mouth dropped into an ‘o.’ Then she cleared her throat and almost giggled. “Sex him up?”  
  
“Let him fuck you, for Merlin’s sake! You’re like some sort of virginal control freak.” Malfoy seemed a little more exasperated than the situation warranted.  
  
“You aren’t _friends_ with him, are you Malfoy?” She asked, suspicious enough to drop her hands completely and plant them on her hips. “You’ve been working up my rage on purpose, haven’t you?”  
  
Malfoy sniffed. “Finch-Fletchly is competent, and my mother likes him.”  
  
Both Ron and Ginny stared at him.  
  
“I’m going now,” Ginny said again. She was blocking the entire incident from her mind. She was going to go to work and pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and then she was going to get blind pissed and maybe visit Finch-Fletchly and smother him with a pillow. There was a good chance her life would get back to normal then.  
  
***  
  
_Nev—  
  
Worst. Day. Ever. Comparable to that time with the finger and the flesh eating worm. Except no Seamus. Meet me at Arrobas? Could use a pint the size of my leg. Or your leg. Hell,_ Krum’s _leg. Just don’t let me get drunk or I’ll never hear the end of it from Dutch. That wily old bastard has the nose of a hippogriff.  
  
—Gin_  
  
***  
  
Dutch was a senile old hobo. He smelled worse than Ginny remembered, too, and kept poking her with his cane, and he tricked her into so many sucker bets that by the end of the day she owed him about five hundred thousand pounds of peppermints.  
  
At Arrobas, she slid into the booth across from Nev and said, “My brother and Malfoy are doing unspeakable things to each other’s private parts.”  
  
Nev’s mouth dropped open. “Couldn’t you have phrased that better?”  
  
Ginny shook her head. “No. That’s entirely the situation as it stands. I’m thinking about committing seppuku. A worthy end to my short and tortured life.”  
  
Colin slipped in next to her. “Tortured life, what? What are we talking about?”  
  
“How much I want to hurt everyone right now.”  
  
Nev patted her hands and slid his pint in front of her. “Drink this and it’ll all seem much better.”  
  
“Blurrier, anyhow,” Colin said. “How’s D’Alley?”  
  
“As good as it could be,” Ginny answered with false brightness. “It’s _Christmas_. I could barely move in the crowds, and Dutch kept trying to steal my nose.”  
  
“They stuck me with Eloise,” Colin groused. “A _rookie_.”  
  
“You’ve still got the better deal.” Ginny gulped down Nev’s ale with a sigh.  
  
“Hang on, you can’t just bring up Malfoy like that and change the subject,” Nev said.  
  
Colin cocked his head at him. “Since when do you want to hear about Malfoy.”  
  
“Since he’s apparently dating Ron. It _was_ Ron, right?” Nev looked to Ginny for clarification.  
  
“Oh yes,” Ginny nodded emphatically, “but I wouldn’t call it dating. Sex, yes, dinner and dancing, no.”  
  
“How do you know? They could be in love—”  
  
“Stop, stop, please,” Ginny dropped her head onto the lacquered tabletop, “you’re causing deep, irreparable tears in my mind. Ron and Malfoy. It just. God.”  
  
Colin clapped her back companionably. “I sort of knew,” he admitted, a little sheepishly.  
  
Her head popped up. “What?”  
  
“Pale-arsed mistress? They were the only two left in the office that night. Saw them on my way down.”  
  
“All right, we are officially not talking about this anymore.” Ginny hailed a waiter and ordered six shots of fire whiskey. Then she said, “I am getting completely shit-faced and then I’m going to kill Finch-Fletchly and then at some point I hope to get my job back.”  
  
“By kill, do you mean—”  
  
“I mean kill. I mean make him dead, as in not alive anymore.”  
  
Colin snorted. “He’s in love with you.”  
  
“I don’t see how!” Ginny said, waving an arm around. “I’ve never encouraged him!”  
  
“You’re pretty, outgoing, kind to animals,” Nev ticked off his fingers, “and you’re sort of socially retarded.”  
  
“This coming from the boy who stuttered for the better part of his life,” Ginny said meanly.  
  
Nev rolled his eyes.  
  
He was obviously used to her temper, and that pulled Ginny up short, because there was a time, before Johnson – and, come to think of it, Johnson was friends with Finch-Fletchly as well, wasn’t he? – when Ginny wasn’t so prone to indiscriminate yelling and rage blackouts. She clearly had issues with personal space, yes, and she liked boys who hardly ever talked or moved or drew attention to themselves and. All right. She had a lot of issues.  
  
You’d think a girl with six older brothers would be better about life and love. Or maybe you wouldn’t. Ron had only gotten mellow about her personal life the past few years, ever since— _oh god_. He’d been fooling around with Malfoy for fucking forever, hadn’t he?  
  
She rubbed her fingers in between her brows, staving off a headache. “I’m off the leash and have no idea what I’m doing.”  
  
“You need someone to rein you in and tame... you...” Nev trailed off, eyes getting big as Ginny glared him down. “What? You started the leash business!”  
  
Ginny glared at him some more.  
  
He sank down into his seat and muttered, “Whatever.”  
  
***  
  
Ministry Incident Report #54098  
Date of Incident: _12.11.06_  
Time of Incident: _7:25pm_  
Persons involved: _Auror Ginevra Weasley, Tenth Division; Auror Colin Creevey, Tenth Division; Mr. Draco Malfoy, Solicitor at Law; Mr. Ron Weasley, Administrative Assistant; Miss Gabrielle Delacour, Civilian_  
Report compiled by: _Auror G. Weasley  
  
At approximately 7:25pm Mr. Ron Weasley buzzed security for help with one Miss Gabrielle Delacour, who had shown up at the law offices of Malfoy and Boot and proceeded to attack R. Weasley with her very pointy shoe, like a “crazy woman.”  
  
Auror Creevey and I responded to the call immediately, arriving at approximately 7:30pm, at which time Miss Delacour was screaming at a pitch only crups could hear, and waving her wand about dangerously.  
  
At approximately 7:35pm, I was hit by a Stunner and knocked out on R. Weasley’s rolling desk chair.  
  
Let it be noted that I was rendered temporarily blind by the sight of R. Weasley without his trousers on, in the presence of Malfoy, equally naked.  
  
Let it also be noted that this blindness was the reason Miss Delacour was able to incapacitate me, and that this incident had nothing to do with Auror incompetence on my part, or the part of my partner.  
  
A detailed report on what happened while I was unconscious is attached._  
  
Attachment: _Report compiled by Auror C. Creevey._  
  
Compiler’s signature: _Ginny Weasley_  
Date: _12.11.06_  
  
***  
  
Ginny was sporting the mother of all headaches by the time she made it home. Stupid Delacour and stupid Ron and his stupid desk chair. She had a knot the size of an egg on her forehead, her left eye was steadily blackening, and she stretched out on her sofa with a groan and a cold compress.  
  
When her Floo spat out Finch-Fletchly, she slid the cloth down over her eyes and willed him away with the power of her mind.  
  
“I brought soup,” he said.  
  
She peeked out at him. He was holding up a small paper bag. “What kind?”  
  
He grinned, ridiculous dimples winking, the black and gold knit cap covering his newly bald head looking disturbingly fetching. “Pumpkin nut,” he said. “No, no need to get up, you’ll only attempt to kick me in the balls, and in your weakened state I’m afraid you’ll hurt yourself.”  
  
“Think you’re funny, do you?” she growled, but stayed put on the sofa.  
  
“I’m being perfectly serious.”  
  
He was. She saw it in his pretty blue eyes. “You really want this?” she finally asked, waving her hand to encompass herself, the sofa, the flat, her collection of sharp, shiny scythes displayed over the mantel.  
  
“I’m not saying you’re not scary,” he said, setting down the bag on her coffee table, maintaining a careful distance. “I’m fairly sure you’ve made me completely sterile, and I still have the occasional nightmare about that broom closet incident. But you’re pretty and kind to animals, and if you’d just.” He inched closer. “Let me _touch you_ —”  
  
Ginny snapped her fingers. “Soup first. We’ll discuss possible sexual relations after I’m contented with food.” She eyed him curiously. “And I’m probably not going to let you move for awhile.”  
  
“You are mentally imbalanced,” he said slowly.  
  
“Yes,” she said, nodding, “I know.”


End file.
